


Recollections

by jack_inaboxx



Series: crack in the glass [16]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types, Original Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:53:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24562681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jack_inaboxx/pseuds/jack_inaboxx
Summary: It's good to be home.
Series: crack in the glass [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1774129
Kudos: 1





	Recollections

Ironically, it takes him another three years to realize that he’s only visited one country twice- and that it isn’t his home, or even a place he’s particularly fond of. Maybe that makes it easier. He isn’t sure. 

It takes him even longer to gather up the courage to even start planning a trip to Italy, and he nearly loses the nerve for it more times than he had been able to count. When he’s finally on the plane there, he’s surprised by how calm he is.

Landing in Italy is like a spear through the heart.

So much has changed, in the centuries since he’s been here last- and yet he can see the familiar streets of Roma beneath it all. Walking through them is even worse- that street corner, where he would always be harassed by minstrels, still exactly the same. And there, where there used to be a blacksmith, a restaurant now. It makes his whole being ache. 

With a heavy heart, he walks, unable to bear moving by anything but horseback through such familiar and yet unfamiliar streets. Crossing the bridge is… less painful than he had thought it would be. 

As he follows the path that, once upon a time, lead to a familiar tavern, it almost seems untouched by time; there are no car tracks here, no phones flashing pictures. It’s quiet, the only sound the trees, the river, and the vague strains of an old folk song from up ahead. 

When he rounds the final bend, sees the tavern, stables and all- the feeling he gets almost has him thinking his heart is being torn from his chest. 

Nothing’s changed; stables, shops, the little square- even the underground tunnel entrance in the middle of it, though they’re no doubt collapsed by now. 

He almost feels like crying. 

He _does_ cry when he opens the door to find an achingly familiar room and an even more familiar figure. For once he doesn’t protest the embrace, sinking into it, desperately in need of comfort from the one man that understands. 

The tears feel strange against his skin, after such a long time without, and he brushes them away, finally stepping back with a wavering smile. 

“You must tell me everything,” the other says, and he almost starts to cry again just to hear it, after so long. 

“I will,” he answers. “We have time.”

And they do. He is home.


End file.
